Page 188 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
“Mmm. Go take it,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Might be your final exam tonight.”
My eyes flicked down, zeroing in on the growing bulge behind his jeans.
“What’s my graduation gift?” I asked sweetly.
His face softened.
“You’ll see,” he murmured.
Butterflies stirred in my belly. Not just from what he said—but from how he said it. Quiet. Sure. Like he already had it all planned.
“Thank you for this weekend, Alistair. I really needed a break,” I whispered, stepping closer.
His arms wrapped around me the second I reached him, locking me into the safety of his chest. I buried my face there, breathing him in—his warmth, his scent—that scent that already felt like it belonged to me.
He always made me feel safe. Even when he was whipping my ass for my sins.
“You’re too sweet for me,” he murmured.
“Do you want me to be a bitch?”
He scoffed—hard enough that his chest pushed against my face.
“Do you want me to belt your arse?” he growled, the sound vibrating against my ear.
“A belt, you say?” I teased, my fingers slipping just under the edge of his collar, brushing warm skin.
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, tightening his arms when I chuckled.
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The tension was back, but it wasn’t sexual tension. It was conception tension.
“You’re making me nervous. Sit down,” I grumbled.
He paced with the stick like it was a relic from a sacred ritual.
Then he turned and glared at me—like I’d just told him he had a micro penis and his seed would never reach my womb.
“I’m sure the buckets of come made it to an egg. Sheesh, chill out,” I drawled, dripping sarcasm.
His lips turned down at the corners, and I blinked.
Was he… pouting?
He lifted the test again—for the hundredth time—but this time, he gasped.
His eyes snapped to mine. Then he threw his fist in the air like he’d just won the World Cup.
“Yes! I fucking nailed it!” he roared, voice bouncing off the ceiling.
My fear and uncertainty dissolved the second I saw his face. The sheer joy, the way he moved—like a man who’d just conquered Everest, not knocked up his student girlfriend.
He charged toward me, yanked me from the chair, and swung me around in one dizzying circle.
“Oh, yes. Now it’s time for your final oral and practical exam,” he said, laughing as he set me down.
I staggered, blinking. “I keep telling you—it won’t ever fit. It’s like trying to swallow a tin of soup. My jaw doesn’t extend that wide.”
